


Why John Quit the Surgery

by ThetaSigma



Series: Mad Doc Watson [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, The rest really like BAMF John, john is BAMF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: John's pretty sure it's time for him to quit his job at the surgery. He alreadyhasa full-time job, and it's chasing after Sherlock.One day tips him from 'well, maybe' to 'Sarah, I'm done'. It involves fire, impromptu field doctoring, and BAMF!John.





	Why John Quit the Surgery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reclusespyder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclusespyder/gifts).



> Prompted by a comment from [reclusespyder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclusespyder/pseuds/reclusespyder) asking for John being strong. I hope this delivers!
> 
> As always, anything you want to see Mad Doc do -- drop me a note, I'll see if I can make it work!
> 
> Everyone's comments have been so lovely! Thank you all!

John’s pretty sure he should just quit his job. They really don’t need the money, between John’s savings, his army pension, and whatever the hell is going on with Sherlock’s financial situation (there’s a trust, and an allowance, and an inheritance, and John’s not even sure why the man was ever looking for a flatmate, but he’s not questioning it – meeting Sherlock was the greatest thing to happen to him). John doesn’t actually want to spend time away from his husband, and the rare times Sherlock manages to drive him completely up the wall, he can always go for a walk or down to the pub. And while he wants to keep his hand in the medical field, diagnosing colds and the flu is hardly what he studied for. Not to mention, patching them up after cases is plenty.

And going off to work every so often means he can’t go back up his idiot of a husband when Sherlock decides to get in a dangerous situation. Even if it turns _into_ one, John has to finish up his work enough to leave, and get there, and honestly, it would just be so much simpler to have been there from the start.

So, yeah, John’s pretty sure he should go ahead and quit his damn job.

Today, though, makes that pretty sure into ‘Sarah, here’s my letter of resignation’.

John gets a text from Sherlock around 11 a.m. – _Found hideout. Going in. Don’t worry, Lestrade and team are with me. – SH_

Whenever Sherlock tells John not to worry, John ends up on the cusp of an anxiety attack. He leaves work – with Sarah’s curses ringing in his ears, but he doesn’t _care_ , because Sherlock needs him – and rushes to the scene.

Arriving there, he makes a mental note to resign. He’s not sure if this could have been avoided had he been there from the start, but it can’t have gone any worse.

The warehouse is on fire, flames billowing out of the upper story windows. John hears several loud cracks and thuds.

He pulls his phone out and texts Sherlock: _Please tell me you’re not in the burning building – JW_

_Afraid so. With the others. Locked in. – SH_

Well fuck.

_Did you call 999? – JW_

_Yes. – SH_

They’re clearly not there yet, and John surveys the building critically. No time to call in anyone else – the fire service will be the fastest.

_Where are you in the building? – JW_

_Ground floor, in the back. An office, name on door McDonald. Getting a bit warm in here. – SH_

Right then. John yanks off his jumper and shirt, leaving him just in his vest, minimising how much can catch fire. He opens Lestrade’s car and finds the water he keeps in the back, which he pours over himself. He ties his wet shirt around his face to cut down on smoke inhalation and heads into the building.

Fuck waiting for the firemen to show up. He’s got people to rescue.

As he enters the warehouse, a gust of wind makes the wood near him catch fire. John ducks and heads towards the back in a crouch. The lower he is to the ground, the less smoke he inhales.

There’s less flame down here – so far – but the room is dark with smoke. John makes his way to the back and starts checking the doors.

MANAGER’S OFFICE. Nope. WILSON. Nope. EMPLOYEE ROOM. Nope. McDONALD – that’s the one. John calls out, “Can you hear me?”

“John!”

“Stand well away from the door, I’m kicking it in!” he shouts back. He waits several seconds, listens to the shuffling, and when it stops, he braces himself against the wall and kicks backwards hard.

He hears the door shudder, and kicks again. The door flies away, the lock coming away from the door with a loud crack.

He can hear parts of the building falling, not nearby yet, but he’s not betting on the integrity holding for long.

He enters the room and curses internally. Five of them – Sherlock, Lestrade, Donovan, and two others John doesn’t know yet – and all of them are laying on the ground, clearly weak from oxygen deprivation. To boot, Lestrade is bleeding heavily, and Sherlock’s applying pressure.

Everything in John wants to save Sherlock first, but he knows how to prioritise. Lestrade first, he’s weaker from blood loss.

John bends down and makes a makeshift bandage, then shifts Lestrade over his shoulders in a classic soldier-carry.

“Hang on as tight as you can, and don’t struggle,” John says, effortlessly standing up with the extra weight. “The rest of you, stay _put_. Sherlock, don’t you _dare_ move. I’ll be back.”

He leaves the building at a trot, Lestrade grasping him weakly. John knows Greg’s generally pretty strong, so this weakness worries him. But he can wait the ten or so minutes it’ll take John to rescue the others, hopefully. 

He gently lowers Lestrade to the ground and pushes his hand onto the wound. “Greg, don’t let up the pressure. I’ll take a look as soon as the others are out.”

Lestrade gives a grunt of acknowledgment, and John dashes back into the building, ducking a falling beam. Sherlock next. There isn’t a damn thing in the world that will make John save Donovan before Sherlock.

“I can walk,” Sherlock protests.

“I don’t care, love, you’ll slow me down.”

“Over your shoulders, John, really?”

“Shut it, we don’t have time, Sherlock.”

He swoops Sherlock up in a bridal-style carry, tells him to hang on tight, and dashes out again. Sherlock hangs onto John’s neck, and John can tell Sherlock is barely resisting nuzzling his neck and chest. He tightens his grip on Sherlock in warning.

“Stay with Lestrade,” John orders as he puts Sherlock down next to him. “Keep pressure on his wound, keep him conscious.”

Three more to go.

He rushes back in. The fire’s definitely hit the ground floor now and is slowly taking over. John throws Donovan over his shoulders and rushes out again.

Donovan’s hanging on tightly, and John swears he feels her hand _caressing_ his bicep. He puts it out of mind and focusses on getting them the _fuck_ out.

He deposits her next to the others and heads back.

There’s definitely not enough time for a fifth trip. The _fourth_ is cutting it close, really. He can see on the PCs’ faces that they realise this. Well, John’s never willingly left a man behind before, and today will not be the day.

He assesses them quickly. Right, one definitely won’t walk out on his own power, but the other… if he braces himself against John, maybe.

He scoops the weaker one into a firemen’s carry and says to the other, “Brace yourself against me, and move as fast as you can. Follow my lead.”

They’re halfway out before the man starts stumbling. John shifts the man on his shoulder and scoops up the second PC. “Just… hang on,” he grunts, faltering under the extra weight. He lowers his head and _gets the fuck out of there_.

He staggers to where the others are and does his best not to drop either man.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Donovan breathes. Her mouth is hanging open in shock. “God _damn_ , Watson.” She eyes him in a definitely lustful way. 

John ignores her and looks around. The ambulances and fire trucks have just pulled up. He makes his way to the firemen and says, “Ground floor cleared, no people left there. Unknown whether there’s anyone in the rest of the building.”

The fireman he’s talking to gives him a look. John supposes he makes a sight – wet, singed, covered in soot, with the shirt still over his mouth to keep the smoke out. John unties it quickly and says, “Not my first fire.”

“You rescued the five there?”

John nods.

“Sir, we insist that gets left to the professionals.”

John gives a grim smile. “I’ve gone into burning buildings before. Afghanistan, five years. And they didn’t have time to wait for you.”

Before anyone can say more to him, he goes back to Lestrade, who’s gone grey. The paramedics are fussing over everyone, giving oxygen, unbandaging the quick bandage John had put on. John looks critically at the wound. He’s definitely lost a ton of blood, and John’s not sure he’ll survive the ride to hospital.

Either way, stitching it up now will keep more blood from being lost.

It’s a long, deep wound – from a knife, then, John surmises. “Hand me a suture kit, antiseptic, and gloves,” John orders, holding his hand out.

“Er… sir? Are you…”

“I’m a doctor,” John snaps. “He needs to stop losing blood now, so unless you can stitch a wound, _let me work_.”

The paramedics respond to the note of authority in John’s voice and hand him the materials. John snaps the gloves on quickly and douses the wound in antiseptic. 

“Greg, I don’t have time to wait for the Lidocaine to work,” he says apologetically. “I’ll inject anyway, but this will hurt.”

Greg waves weakly at him. John stitches him up, then asks, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No. Just the leg. Dizzy.”

“Yeah, that’s from the blood loss.” John turns to the paramedic. “I’ll ride with. Tell the hospital to prep an OR and get O-neg blood.”

*** 

Greg recovers okay. He’s off work for over a month as he heals, but besides a scar, he’s absolutely fine. The day after the fire, John returns to the surgery to hand in his resignation. He’s pretty sure the fire was the universe’s way of telling him he _has_ a job, and that’s keeping Sherlock out of trouble.

Sherlock is utterly delighted to find that John can lift him effortlessly, and makes use of this knowledge all over the flat. Their new favorite position, for several weeks, is Sherlock against the wall, his legs wrapped around John’s waist, as John fucks him senseless.

And Donovan doesn’t stop staring at John, like she can see the muscles he carefully hides under his jumper. A week after the fire, she asks him, haltingly, if he’d like a coffee. (John’s reaction is: _I’m happily married, thank you. I know you don’t think sleeping with married men is wrong, but I’m not cheating on Sherlock, and especially not with you._ ) She doesn’t ask again, but she also doesn’t stop staring. Anderson definitely doesn’t like it, but John doesn’t care.

Sherlock delights in it, and makes sure to brush up against John as much as possible, grip his arm, run a hand over his shoulder – anything that both emphasizes John’s muscles and Sherlock’s claim on John.


End file.
